by Ryk Brown
Nathan looked down at the sleeping baby girl. “It seems a shame to burden an innocent child with such horrific truths.”
“The galaxy is full of horrific truths, Nathan,” Jessica replied. “You should know that better than anyone.” Jessica looked back down at Ania. “I don’t want her to grow up with any delusions that everything is fair and just. It will be too painful when she finds out that the universe isn’t fair.”
“Just don’t make her too jaded,” Nathan warned.
“I just don’t want her to have any false hopes.”
“Hope is what gives us strength, Jess,” Nathan explained. “It’s what gets us out of bed each morning. It’s what keeps us alive.”
Jessica looked at Nathan. “Is that really what you believe?”
“Yes,” Nathan replied without hesitation. “Yes, it is.”
“Even though you’re sitting in a prison cell, facing certain execution?”
“Yes.”
Jessica sighed. “How can you possibly have any hope left, Nathan?”
“My hope is not for my own survival, Jess. It’s for the survival of my world. For you, little Ania…all of you. That’s why I surrendered to the Jung. To give you all a chance.”
“You were tricked,” Jessica insisted.
“I wasn’t tricked, Jess.” Nathan argued. “I knew Bacca was setting me up to save his own reputation. I saw it for what it was; an opportunity. And I seized it. It’s as simple as that.”
“It isn’t fair,” Jessica said, looking back down at Ania. “You don’t deserve to die.”
“No one deserves to die, Jess. But it is the one inescapable truth in life…that we must all die. I simply chose to die now, in order to save others. And I’m okay with that.”
Jessica looked at Nathan. “Well I’m not. And I never will be.”
“You need to let me go, Jessica. You need to get on with your own life. If not for your own sake, then for Ania’s.”
“I can’t,” Jessica whispered. “I won’t. I will find a way to save you, Nathan.”
“Jess, I’m locked up in what is definitely the most secure facility on the entire Jung homeworld, sixty-something light years from Earth. Anyone who tries to rescue me will not only die in the attempt, but they will likely trigger exactly what I was trying to prevent…an all-out war between the Jung and the Alliance.”
Jessica turned away, unable to look at him. Nathan put his fingers under her chin, forcing her to look him in the eyes.
“Be happy, Jess. I am.”
“But…”
“Let me go… It’s the only way.”
Nathan faded away, disappearing in front of her. Jessica’s eyes welled up with tears. “I can’t,” she whispered, still looking where he had been standing a moment ago. “I can’t.”
* * *
After parting company with Armin, it had taken Reto three days to make his way from the shore into the nearest city on Nor-Patri’s main, largest continent. The size and proximity of the Jung’s once largest moon, Zhu-Anok, had such a dramatic effect on the planet’s tides that no cities were ever built along the planet’s ocean shores. Not even on those of her largest lakes. The only exceptions were two floating cities located in the middle latitudes.
Of course, the tides were no more, just as Zhu-Anok was no more. All that was left of the massive, gray ball that had always loomed over one third of Nor-Patri’s sky was a ring of debris that was slowly making its way around the Jung homeworld. In the daytime, it was nothing more than a faint shadow that sliced across an otherwise brilliant, topaz sky. But at night, it was visible. A collection of rock, dust, and building debris that twinkled like the distant stars. Some large, some small.
On this night, like many others, the sky was decorated by streaks of light as debris blown too close to Nor-Patri burned up while passing through its atmosphere. Most of the pieces large enough to reach the ground had already done so, often times with devastating consequences. That which had not yet found its way to low orbit was in the process of being cleaned up by what remained of the Jung home fleet.
Reto had never been on the Jung homeworld. Like most others in service of the Jung, he had been born and raised on one of the empire’s many worlds. However, having served for more than a decade before deserting and joining the Koharan resistance, he knew as much about the customs of Nor-Patri as any native. On every world the Jung conquered, they forced the locals to adhere to Jung customs and to speak the Jung language. Those who served with distinction were allowed to reside on Nor-Patri upon completion of their service. It was the dream of every loyal member of the Jung warrior caste; to someday live on the Jung homeworld.
For Reto, it seemed more a punishment than a reward. This world reeked of all that he had come to despise over the decades. He had little enthusiasm for the empire as a lad, and even less after a decade of forced service. He had always found it odd that an empire that considered itself so superior to every other form of government out there, could only achieve greatness by forcing its own people to serve. A truly great empire would not need to require service. It would instead, inspire such service.
Reto sat on the side of the road, watching people go about their daily lives. The city of Oretza itself seemed grimy and unkempt, although Reto suspected that it was not always so. The people here wore nice clothing, although most appeared to not have washed their attire in several days. Like most cities on Nor-Patri, Oretza was just now starting to get its basic infrastructure back on line. The debris from the breakup of Zhu-Anok had caused so much destruction, it would be decades before the Jung homeworld would return to normal, if ever. They could rebuild, yes. But no one really knew what the long-term effect would be on the planet’s ecosystem, now that the mighty Zhu-Anok was no longer dragging Nor-Patri’s waters up and down her shores.
Reto watched as broadcast drones drifted overhead, their massive holographic displays streaming images from all over the planet. And of course, every hour, like clockwork, it showed images of the first day of the trial of the war criminal, Nathan Scott. It gave the people a target for their anger. Blame was a powerful tool. It absolved the masses of their sins of indifference, but more importantly, it brought them together, using hatred to seal those bonds.
Put roofs over their heads, clothes on their backs, and food in their bellies, and they’ll believe anything you tell them. Reto was disgusted by these ignorant masses. If they should be angry at anyone, it should be at their leaders for allowing such a catastrophe to happen in the first place. All civilization had spawned from Earth more than a thousand years ago. To think that the cradle of humanity would simply roll over and allow itself to be conquered by one of her errant children was ludicrous, naive, and altogether arrogant.
Or was it Reto who was fooling himself? Was he making himself believe that these people were as much to blame as the Jung leaders, or the Sol-Pentaurus Alliance? He was, after all, about to kill one of them for his own purposes. A shopkeeper, a teacher, a laborer? Would the man whose life he took this day have a family? Would anyone miss him?
Reto put the thoughts out of his mind. He had a job to do. He continued looking, until he spotted a man sitting on the other side of the plaza. The man looked forlorn, as if all had been taken from him. Reto moved toward him, pushing his way through the line of people waiting for their daily rations of food and water. When he reached the downtrodden man, he sat down on the ground next to him, acting as if he was too tired to stand a moment longer.
Reto sighed as he sat down, acting relieved for a bit of rest. He looked at the people standing in line in the street, shaking his head. “Is it always like this?” Reto asked the forlorn man.
“As far as I know, yes,” the man replied.
“I am Jorbar,” Reto said.
“Coln,” the man replied halfheartedly.
&nbs
p; “Why do you sit here?” Reto wondered. “Shouldn’t you be in line?”
“What’s the point?” Coln replied.
“You don’t wish to eat? To drink?”
Coln looked at Reto. “I have nothing to live for. I lost everything.”
“We all lost something, or someone,” Reto replied, feigning support.
“My wife, my children, my business. They are all gone,” the man sobbed. “I wish Zhu-Anok would strike me down this day, to end my suffering.”
Reto tried to hide his smile. Coln did not know it at the moment, but his wish to die was about to be granted. Only it would not be Zhu-Anok that would strike him down.
* * *
Commander Telles stood on the observation tower’s upper deck, his eyes fixed on the urban combat training before him. Below, Lieutenant Commander Nash was putting her first group of Alliance Marines Spec-Ops through their daily training regimen. The commander watched as she barked out orders to stop the simulation, then stepped out onto the training area to reposition the trainees, pointing out their failures to adhere to the basic techniques she was attempting to ingrain in them.
Master Sergeant Jahal stepped up onto the deck and approached his commander. As he reached the rail, he looked down at the lieutenant commander, as well. “I see her demeanor has yet to change.”
“Indeed,” the commander agreed.
“Perhaps it is for the best. She needs the release.”
“But for how long?”
Master Sergeant Jahal sighed.
“In short order, this pattern of behavior may become permanent.”
“Yelling at trainees is part of the job,” the master sergeant reminded him.
“When appropriate, yes,” the commander agreed, “but she barks at them incessantly, and in doing so, fails to provide positive reinforcement when they perform correctly.”
“It has only been a week,” the master sergeant said optimistically.
“A very long week,” the commander added. “I fear she may require special handling.”
Master Sergeant Jahal cast a sidelong glance at his old friend. “Are you proposing what I think you’re proposing?”
“She is headed for a complete crash. She has been ever since she returned from Kohara, and Captain Scott’s surrender has only made things worse.”
“She is not qualified,” the master sergeant said.
“No, she is not,” the commander agreed, “at least, not by traditional standards.” Commander Telles finally took his eyes off of the events below, and turned to look at his trusted subordinate. “But times have changed, Elam. The house that founded the Ghatazhak is no more, and the man whom you and I were programmed to protect is facing certain execution.” Telles looked back out across the base, beyond the training compound below him. “Our numbers have dwindled to the lowest in history, and now we have been relegated to teach others to be a mere shadow of what we are.”
“You owe her nothing, Lucius,” the master sergeant reminded him, “and without refresh, our programming is no longer binding. I, for one, no longer feel its pull.”
“Does that mean our word is no longer binding?”
Elam nodded his concession.
“He would want us to keep her safe.”
The master sergeant laughed. “Training her in the ways of the Ghatazhak is hardly keeping her safe. If anything, it is putting her in harm’s way.”
“She is headed that way regardless,” the commander said. “She always has been. It is in her very nature. If that is what she is meant to do, then at least we will be giving her a chance to survive that which the future holds for her.”
“And at the same time, we would be opening up options for the Ghatazhak,” the master sergeant realized.
“If one does not adapt to change, and embrace the opportunities that change presents, one surely withers and dies.”
Again, the master sergeant sighed. “You would be changing the very face of the Ghatazhak. Creating a completely new set of logistics for us to deal with.”
“She is only one female,” the commander replied. “And she may not even agree to commit to the training. Even if she does, she may not complete it.”
“Oh, she’ll complete it,” the master sergeant said. “She is too stubborn to do otherwise.” Elam thought for a moment. “You tried to train her before, did you not? If I remember correctly, it did not go as hoped.”
“I only tried to introduce her to the basic tenants of self-control,” the commander explained. “She was receptive to the training, for a short time. Unfortunately, the Jung attacked Tanna, after which she was no longer receptive.”
“And what makes you think that she will be more receptive now?” the master sergeant wondered. “If anything, she is more distressed.”
“All the more reason she should commit to the training. It is the only way for her to save herself. Besides, I will make her an offer that she cannot refuse.”
“And what might that offer be?” the master sergeant wondered. “Or is it better that I do not know?”
“For now, yes,” the commander replied, as he turned his attention back to Jessica and her trainees below. “But you shall know soon enough.”
* * *
“How is he today?” Mister Sosna asked Miri as she entered the president’s office to lay out his daily briefings.
“Same, I’m afraid,” she replied, as she placed the data pads on his desk, and arranged them in order of priority. “He’s still on autopilot.”
“Do you think he will ever be the same?”
“He’s lost his eldest son, his wife, and may lose his only remaining son…what do you think?” she snapped. Miri paused, regaining her composure. “I apologize. It has been a difficult week.” She looked at the president’s chief bodyguard. “He will survive this. We all will. It will not be pleasant. But we will survive. We have no other choice.”
“Of course.” Mister Sosna paused, listening to the message in his earpiece. “He will be here shortly.”
Miri moved away from her father’s desk, standing off to the side as she always did when he first arrived in the morning. Mister Sosna went to the side door of the president’s office and held it open, another message alerting him that the president was in the outer corridor.
President Scott entered the office without speaking a word. He had said little more than what the position required of him during the last week, ever since his youngest son, Nathan, had surrendered himself to the Jung.
The president took his seat and picked up the first data pad, skimming the contents on its display, but not really reading it. He repeated the process with each subsequent data pad, until he had reached the last one. After the final scan, he placed it on his desk and sighed. “I just read them all, and remember nothing.”
Miri looked at Mister Sosna who, taking the hint, left the room and closed the door behind him.
President Scott looked at his youngest daughter. “What am I to do, Miri?”
“You will do what you always do,” she replied calmly. “The right thing.”
“Even if the right thing is to leave my son in the hands of our enemy? Even if the right thing is to let him die? Is that what a father does?”
“It is what a president does, if need be,” Miri replied.
“Even if it destroys him inside?” the president asked, looking at his daughter.
Miri stepped closer, putting her hand on his shoulder, just as the intercom beeped.
“Mister President, incoming message from Admiral Dumar,” the voice on the intercom announced.
“Put him on,” the president replied, pressing the intercom button.
The view screen on the wall directly in front of the president’s desk came to life, and the image of Admiral Duma
r appeared. The admiral was sitting in his office on the Karuzara asteroid base, high in orbit over Earth. The admiral was never an animated man, but on this morning, his face looked more solemn than usual.
“Admiral Dumar,” the president greeted curtly, not wanting to engage in conversation.
“Mister President. I am happy to report that the Jung have decided to take advantage of our offer to maintain constant diplomatic communications via scheduled, secure, jump comm-drone message relays.”
“Then I take it you have received your first message from them?”
“Two messages, actually. The first, acceptance of our terms of communication…” Admiral Dumar paused, seeming hesitant to continue.
“And the second message?” the president inquired, sensing the admiral’s reluctance.
“The second message was word that Captain Scott has been charged with attempted genocide against the Jung people. The trial is to begin in a few days.”
“And the punishment for such an offense?”
“We know little of the Jung legal system,” the admiral admitted. “However, I suspect the penalty is most severe.”
“Thank you, Admiral,” the president replied. “Please keep me posted if you receive any new information.”
“Of course, Mister President.”
President Scott picked up the remote and ended the call, turning the view screen off. Miri watched him nervously, unsure of what to say. “Father?”
He looked up at her, his eyes welling up. “Please, leave me to my grief.”
Miri wanted to say something to ease her father’s pain, but could not find the words. “I’ll be outside if you need me,” she finally replied. She kissed him on the forehead, then left the office.
* * *
Jessica sat on the back porch of her parents’ home on Porto Santo Island, watching the sun sink into the ocean while she nursed a cold beer. It had become part of her evening routine, after a long day of yelling at spec-ops trainees. Get home, leave another message with the president’s office that would go unanswered, then numb herself with alcohol in the hopes that she might not be visited by Nathan in her dreams. It never seemed to work, though. Nathan came to her every night, and he always told her the same thing…to let go. And she always refused.